Page 64 of Bride of the Mad Laird
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Lyra was in tumult as she watched Tòrr’s tall figure leaving the solar. Why, in the name of all the holiest of saints had she not been able to immediately jump at what he had offered?
Surely, the decision was straightforward? Of course, she wanted nothing more than to return to Morvern. That had been what she’d longed for all the years at the Priory and everything she’d intended once she’d escaped the gallowglasses on that day when Tòrr and Edmund had come to her rescue.
Wasn’t that why she’d risked her life and the life of a poor fisherman to make her escape?
Dwelling on this, she paced before the fire, screwing the hem of her kirtle into a tiny ball. A tiny voice was whispering to her, and she raised both hands to her ears to block what it was saying.
Werenae ye fleeing Dùn Ara because ye’d been eavesdropping? Ye believed the laird didnae care a jot fer ye and would hand ye over tae MacDougall.”
She shook her head vehemently. Of course not. She had run away because... well... because she wished to go home.
The tiny voice persisted.
That wasnae what sent ye helter-skelter down the path tae the sea. Ye wanted him and ye thought he didnae want ye and ye couldnae bear it.
“Are ye all right, me lady?” It was Claray’s soft voice jolting her out of her reverie.
It was only as she turned to greet the Seneschal that she became aware of the silent tears coursing down her cheeks.
She hastily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Thank ye, Claray. I am only puzzling over a matter that has me bedeviled.”
“I hope it is soon resolved and ye’re smiling again. Shall I bring ye some bites? Ye’ve nae broken yer fast this morning.”
Lyra sniffed but managed a watery smile. “Thank ye. Naught more than a small morsel and some ale. I have little appetite.”
After Claray had bustled off to the kitchen, Lyra returned to the seat in front of the fire, trying and failing to make sense of the swirling thoughts rattling in her brain.
After she’d nibbled on a boiled egg and an oatcake and quaffed half a tankard of the ale, there was still little sign of the clarity she so desperately needed.
Tòrr’s offer to take her back to Morvern had taken her by surprise and left her in a maelstrom of confusion.
After the maid had cleared away her platters Lyra got to her feet, intending to return to her chamber. She hoped that sitting in solitude and calm could help her find a way through the jumble of shadowy notions jostling for space.
She had only traced a few steps when it occurred to her that she might draw on Eilidh’s wisdom. Mayhap she could help to make sense of her strange, conflicted emotions, and aid her to a decision.
After entering the bailey, she spied Eilidh tending a patch of herbs along the path. The Healer looked up as Lyra approached. A smile spreading across her lean features.
“Good morrow, me lady. What is it that brings ye tae the bailey wi’ such a troubled expression on yer bonny face?”
Despite her misery, Lyra found herself smiling. Eilidh’s warmth was reassuring.
The healer rubbed her back as she stood and then reached for Lyra’s hand. “Come, we’ll sit and enjoy a chamomile tisane and ye shall tell me what ails ye.”
Her thoughts seemed to make more sense to her, as she relayed them under Eilidh’s careful questioning.
“So, ye wish tae travel tae yer home, yet at the same time, ‘tis nae what ye wish?”
“Aye. Those are me thoughts, yet they make little sense tae me.”
“And yer heart lies... where?”
Lyra’s cheeks were burning as she confessed her longings and yearnings to Eilidh.
“The laird will abide by yer wishes, he will take ye tae yer clan if that is what ye desire above all else.
